All Bets are Off
by idelthoughts
Summary: Jo was pretty sure Henry wasn't gay. Or maybe he was? Can you be a little bit gay?


**A/N:**

 **This fic (originally written and posted around Christmas, so set somewhere between 1x10 and 1x11), came from a lot of very silly speculation on tumblr about Henry Morgan's sexuality, and the unlikelihood of anyone living that long without fully investigating all their options (verdict: very unlikely).**

 **That, and a desire to see Jo Martinez expand a few more of her mental horizons thanks to Henry.**

 **As always, thanks to the beautiful beta squad: pipsqueak119, WashingWater, and SpaceCadet72.**

 ***8*8*8***

By now, Jo knew Henry's routine.

The man was an unrepentant flirt—sometimes at the worst possible moments, and oh she was trying _so hard_ to forget the look on Reece's face last week when Henry figured he'd turn it up on her—but he definitely had a method.

She and Hanson had debated it back and forth over many a crime scene, because sometimes there wasn't much to do but stand back and let CSU do their sweep, and Henry was an endless topic of conversation that was always more speculation than answers, and good for keeping them entertained through the boredom and bad coffee.

Eye contact. It had to be all the eye contact, they finally decided. He had a way of focusing on someone until they thought they were the most important thing in the world. Jo was willing to admit she'd taken advantage of it. Reluctant female witness? Stick Henry's pretty face in front of them, and suddenly they're spilling their story. Henry couldn't resist preening like a peacock for anyone who showed the least bit of interest in him, and away he'd go, cranking up his charm. Great for getting those witnesses talking, and all Jo had to do was stand back and take notes while the story came rolling out.

The rest of the time, she stood back and rolled her eyes.

Henry had it down to a science. Direct smile until he got one in return, then that whole shy thing with the look away and licking his lips, and a laugh. More eye contact, quick hand on the back or arm, almost like it was an accident, followed with a quick joke. It always worked, too.

Of course, while Henry's early game was totally solid, it faltered as soon as he started talking.

He'd say something a little too observant, or a little too weird, and it was an even chance whether the person was intrigued and impressed, or weirded out and booked it out of there. She and Hanson had started placing bets, and so far they were in a dead heat.

Tonight, it looked like Henry was getting the routine worked on _him_.

Several beers in and on the way back from the restroom and on her way to fetch another, because it was Friday and a third wasn't so unreasonable at this point, she spotted Henry at the bar.

He'd agreed to join them for the after-work happy hour ritual again, and she had her fingers crossed that this was the start of a little more off-duty time with him. Not that she had some great big jonesing to spend time with Henry, but he definitely needed to get out more. She shouldn't judge though; aside from the odd time her sister managed to guilt-trip her into family dinners every few months, this was about the only social time she had in her week.

Henry was certainly getting the full-on bar experience with this outing. A guy next to him was leaning just a little too close to Henry for it to be harmless friendly chatter, past buddy-buddy into _hey hot stuff_ mode, and Henry, oblivious as ever, had his head cocked to hear him over the pub din, listening with a look of concentration on his face.

Jo grinned and stopped to watch. She had to wait and see how he was going to wiggle out of this one, because the guy was really going for it, rambling on with animated gestures as he regaled Henry with some story, and it was going to take some doing to politely extract himself from this.

Instead, Henry threw back his head and laughed.

Now, she didn't hear that sound all that often.

She was starting to feel a little bit like she was spying. Not that it was properly spying, exactly, since all Henry was doing was standing in the middle of a crowded pub having a conversation.

Or not—the guy looked like he had other plans than conversation. He sidled in closer to Henry. Nothing unreasonable, just a little closer than even the busy pub excused, and Henry turned his face to the man with a warm, welcoming smile that she knew by now.

Wait. Was Henry _flirting_ with this guy?

The guy in question—and he was pretty good looking, she'd have to admit, all blond curls and square jawed squeaky-clean polish, with that same shiny uptown style thing that Henry had going—was holding out a drink, encouraging Henry to take it. Henry held up a hand at first, all bashful head-shaking, and then caved with a gracious smile and a sidelong look.

There it was, the shy thing, and the lip lick, and oh my god Henry _was_ flirting with the guy.

Right on cue, hand on the arm. Henry said something that made the man laugh, and Mr. Blond leaned in and whispered something in Henry's ear which made him laugh in return with the kind of smile that screamed _I'm about to get laid_.

Henry wasn't flirting. Henry was picking up.

This wasn't crime scene flirtation to get a witness talking, and it wasn't casual drive-by conversation, this was an honest-to-god play, and the guy was so into it he looked like he'd happily have his tongue down Henry's throat the first chance he got. And Henry? Henry looked perfectly fine with the idea.

Her jaw dropped. Henry was gay? She hadn't thought he was, but—

Unfortunately, that was when Henry glanced up and spotted her and the gawping fish-face she was making.

He raised an eyebrow. She closed her mouth.

Busted. Oh, this was awkward.

The visual stand-off lasted another second before Henry very purposefully returned his attention to the man at his side and said something to him. Whatever it was, it made Mr. Blond smile and set a hand on Henry's waist with that oh-so-casual way that she knew from every single bar pickup she'd ever made.

A little red-faced and feeling guiltier than she probably needed to, Jo wove her way through the crowd to go back to their table in the back of the pub where Hanson was still holding down the fort. It was way past time to give Henry his privacy. If he wanted to pick someone up at the bar, that was his business, and not hers, and she would stop being a child about it, because his personal life was not fodder for her to tease him with. And it was certainly none of her business if that someone was a guy, because—because—

Oh hell. Knock her over with a feather, she had no idea that Henry was gay, and yes, she was surprised, she could admit that. Well he couldn't be _completely_ gay, because there was this Abigail. A little bit gay, then. Or maybe she'd misunderstood about the Abigail thing. She'd been pretty sure Abigail was the person who'd bought him the watch and then, as he'd mumbled with not-so-subtly broken-hearted humour, left him. Whatever it was that happened there, she was certain that's what had barred the door on Henry's past.

And maybe that's why it was hard to wrap her head around the idea of Henry following through with _anyone_. He'd shut that part of himself down. He was perfectly capable of connecting with others if he chose, but he could turn it off like a faucet whenever he wanted, and most of the time, it was firmly in the off position. She swore he made himself as weird as possible just to avoid the need to deal with people.

She tried to imagine Henry on a date. He'd probably show up with flowers and tickets to the opera or something floofy like that. Or was Henry a one night stand kind of guy? There and gone, no messy romance? Either way, it was hard to imagine. It wasn't anything specific, it was just, well…

The idea of Henry as _human_.

That was so unfair, and she knew it. That was the Henry he sold everyone, and it irritated her that her subconscious had bought into it. He'd trusted her enough to let slip a few details, and even though those little bits and pieces were almost obscured by the well-crafted mask, there was obviously someone underneath there.

Someone who picked up hot guys in bars. And maybe that she was just finding this out now was a pretty good indication that she had no idea at all what was really under Henry's front.

Wow. If she was this fascinated with Henry's personal life, no matter how unexpected it was, she really needed to get a grip, or maybe even call it a night.

Or maybe she needed that drink she'd been after—but that meant going to the bar, where Henry was making eyes at Mr. Blond.

So, no drink. That was fine.

Back at their table, Hanson was busy with his phone. She slid into the seat next to him.

"Hey, I'm headed out. Just texting the wife to tell her I'll be on my way soon." Hanson glanced around. "Where's Henry? I was gonna say goodbye."

"He's, uh—he's busy."

Hanson raised an eyebrow. "What, Doc found a lady friend?"

Jo really wished she had that beer, if only to have something to do other than answer Hanson's question. Not that she thought Hanson was really going care one way or another if Henry was making eyes at a guy or a girl, but he could be a bit manly-man sometimes, and the last thing she wanted was him giving Henry a hard time.

"He's getting another drink."

Well, that was true. Pushed on him by an attractive man, but still.

"What's with you?" Hanson asked, looking at her over the cell phone and frowning.

"Nothing."

She said it a tad quicker than necessary, and absolutely not casual enough to fool Hanson. He wrinkled his nose and put the phone down on the table.

"No, seriously, what's up?"

It wasn't like it was a secret, but she still felt weird saying it out loud.

"Henry's, uh—"

"What? Something wrong?"

She shook her head, and then gestured over her shoulder.

"Then what—oh. _Oh_."

Hanson sat straight up in his seat like a prairie dog, eyebrows up to his hairline, having spotted Henry at the bar. Jo slapped him on the shoulder repeatedly and with urgent haste.

"No, don't look, don't look!" she hissed. "Let him do his thing."

"Yeah, but I didn't expect _that_ was the thing he was gonna do," Hanson said, ignoring her and craning his neck to get a better look. "Damn, when he wants to, Henry can land a high quality piece of—"

"Hanson, shut up," Jo snapped, incredulous. "Come on, it's _Henry_."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Ok, I'll let you call it first—stick the landing or no?"

She didn't feel like placing bets on this one, for some reason.

"No. Not this time, okay?"

"That's fine with me, because I think this one's a sure thing." Hanson relaxed into his chair, interlacing his hands across his stomach. "I'm finally gonna pull ahead of you here."

"No, I meant—"

"Josie, you gonna tell me you're all upset because Henry's macking on a guy?"

"'Macking?'" Jo repeated, cringing. "Mike—no. Never say that again, please."

"I'm right, aren't I?" He pointed a finger at her, tutting loudly. "I'm surprised at you."

"I have no problem with Henry hitting on a guy!" she sputtered. "I don't! No!"

Hanson laughed. "Fine, sure. But are you really that surprised? Look at Henry. I mean—come on. If there's anyone I can see batting for the other team—"

"Mike, no," she groaned, and buried her face in her hands. "Just stop talking, please." She dropped her hands and glared at him. "It's fine, and I honestly don't have a problem with it, okay? I never said there was any problem with it. Gay, or straight, or whatever, Henry can take home whoever he wants, and bang whoever he wants. Alright? Satisfied?"

Hanson was clamping his mouth shut tight and looking over her shoulder with obvious intent, eyes wide, trying to draw her attention.

Oh, please no. Please let this _not_ be how her night was going to go.

"Here you go, Detective. I noticed you hadn't refilled your drink yet."

Henry materialized at her side, just as she knew he would, and set a glass in front of her. He pulled out a chair and sat down, tucking a business card into the breast pocket of his jacket. He was looking straight at her, smug as anything. No mercy, no slack, just that stupid _I dare you_ expression he got when he figured he had the high ground on you.

Hanson didn't miss the business card, and snorted a laugh. He stood and pocketed his cell phone.

"You can catch me later," he said to Jo, still chuckling. "Alright, gotta get home to the family before it gets too late. G'night, kids."

Jo would have paid him triple to stay a little longer, but before she could think of any excuse, Hanson was gone. She took a swig of her drink and swallowed it down, mustering strength for her apology. Henry flicked his gaze after Hanson, and back to her.

"Lost the bet this time?"

She put the beer down. Bad to worse.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Look, it's in good fun—"

"You don't have to explain, Detective. I'm not offended."

But it was _Detective_ instead of _Jo_ , and so she was sure that wasn't entirely true. She often wondered if that smooth indifference to the opinions of others was part of the front, or if he actually didn't care. The better she got to know him, the more she thought it was a built-up defense rather than a natural trait. Either way, she felt more than a little guilty.

She shrugged, trying to laugh it off.

"Sorry if I cramped your style back there."

"You didn't."

"I guess I didn't know you were, um," she searched for the words, but Henry spared her.

"That I was—I believe the modern parlance is, bisexual?"

"Modern…? Okay, sure. Yeah, I guess I didn't."

She'd never figure Henry out, and it had _nothing_ to do with his personal life.

"There's no reason you would have known."

"Henry, we don't have to talk about this." _Weak show, Martinez. Try again_. "I'm really sorry. It's none of my business."

"It's not a secret, I don't mind." He cocked his head, and his expression softened. "Does it bother you?

She paused and looked at him, a little surprised. Both at his question—because he actually wanted to know, he was waiting for her answer—and that he actually had to ask. Even though she'd been a bit of an ass in her surprise, she hoped he knew her better than that. She shook her head.

"No. 'Course not, Henry."

She hoped he knew she meant it.

There was a little drop in his shoulders, just the smallest shift in elevation, as he accepted her response, though nothing else gave away his thoughts. Henry did care what people thought—what she thought, which was a nice feeling. Nobody was totally immune, no matter how hard they pretended.

"To be fair, it's not a situation that arises often."

"What, you dating guys?" He nodded, and she smiled, unable to resist teasing him. "So no long string of secret boyfriends in your past, then?"

He chuckled, shaking his head no.

"I'm afraid you overestimate me. Well, there was a fellow, once, but…" His smile fell a little, and she watched the play of old memories run across his features before he looked back at her. "It was a long time ago."

She leaned her chin on her hand, watching him collect himself and shuffle back into his normal mien. Any time she managed to dig something out of him, it never seemed to be happy. He obviously had his reasons for the tight-lipped policy, and occasionally she worried what she'd find if Henry ever opened up and let her in on his whole story.

He took a deep, cleansing breath.

"I don't date often, period." He tipped his head back towards the bar. "Though it is flattering to know that there are options, should I decide to change that policy."

"If you want to head out, I'm pretty much done here, so it's not like you have to stick around on my account."

Henry smiled, and this time it was sincere.

"It's fine. As I said, it's flattering, but an option for a future time. For now, we both have a full glass, and I believe you promised to tell me about the Patterson cold case you dug up this morning."

He waited expectantly. Like that, a flip of the switch, and the entire previous conversation was forgotten and he was ready to talk about dead bodies. She laughed.

"Henry, you are something else."

"I can't imagine what you mean," he said, his mouth twisted in a half-smile. "Now, the details, if you please."

She was already warming to the change in topic, because this was well-worn ground with Henry, and she liked twisting through his thought process with him on cases. And this one, this had stumped her and every over-ambitious detective who'd picked up over the last twenty years, so she knew he was going to love it.

"Alright, so this one is a literal locked room problem." She set her glass down and pulled a pen from her pocket and pulled a napkin from the table close. "Hang on, I've got to draw this—"

 ***8*8*8***

 **I got a bit carried away with this beautiful show, and ended up writing more in this fandom than I've ever written for anything else. If you want to read my other Forever stories, the rest of my fic is on my AO3 profile. Thank you, and my love to all the wonderful writers and readers out there - thanks for making it a great little fandom to be part of!**

 **Thanks for reading!**


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